


Beyond Attraction

by fly_sekkiski



Series: In the End it Was Probably De Groot's Fault [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fly_sekkiski/pseuds/fly_sekkiski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail and Billy become better acquainted with each other on the Walrus and Billy grows curious about what Abigail writes every day. Takes place before the events in Charles Town. Miranda’s POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of pricked up my AsheBones ears, as it were, when it became clear on the show that Billy had read Abigail's journal. So I started thinking about possible scenarios between them that might lead to him wanting to know what was in it.  
> In the end, this got a little more serious on me than I'd originally intended. I might have to write some fluff next...

‘He has lovely eyes,’ Abigail said suddenly.

Over the top edge of her book Miranda could see Abigail’s face turned towards her. She raised her head to meet the young woman's fervent expression.

‘Billy, that is,’ Abigail added, unnecessarily. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Miranda considered the question for a moment. In truth, she’d not thought about Billy Bones’ eyes before then. It was a struggle to even recall their colour, let alone any aesthetic pleasure they might bestow. But Miranda was perfectly acquainted with the thrilling effect of eyes she did find lovely. She directed a reassuring smile at Abigail. ‘Yes, I agree that Billy does have nice eyes. Very dark blue,’ she added, after a brief pause for thought.

Delighted to have her opinions of Billy corroborated, Abigail exclaimed, ‘Oh! They are, aren’t they? Just like the colour of the ocean!’

Miranda had to laugh despite herself. ‘Is that what you’ve been doing this past half-hour? Gazing out the window at the ocean and imagining a certain young man’s eyes? I did wonder: you hadn’t turned a single page.’

Blushing deeply, Abigail took up her abandoned book and apologised for being so silly, but Miranda affectionately told her not to worry.

After all these years Miranda wasn’t sure she could still perfectly recall the feelings her own first infatuation had inspired in her. Her mouth involuntarily formed a wry twist: she suspected they had been somewhat less innocent than mere admiration of fine eyes.

Later that day, Miranda and Abigail passed Billy on their way in for their evening meal. As they neared, Miranda noticed the quartermaster set his jaw and fix his eyes elsewhere: tell-tale signs of a resolve to ignore what was in front of him. Abigail stopped to address him, however, and that one small gesture of hers reduced his steel to putty. He put up a brave struggle but after a bare second Billy relinquished the fight. His gaze turned to meet hers.

‘Would you care to join us for dinner?’ Abigail asked sweetly.

Billy, Miranda could see, cared hugely but was in no position to invite himself to James’ table. He sputtered some kind of explanation about being in charge of the ship while the captain dined. He was also, bless him, blushing.

Abigail’s understanding nod was accompanied by that captivating and apparently natural trick she had of lowering her eyes without breaking her engagement with the other person. Miranda noted with amusement that Billy used the moment to sneak a few daring glances at Abigail before pinning his gaze to some point above her head when the girl raised her eyes again.

‘Tomorrow, perhaps, then,’ Abigail responded, ever hopeful. She smiled into Billy’s assumed expression of reserve and passed through to James’ cabin.    

Billy turned to watch her go. Miranda still wasn’t convinced about his eyes, but the besotted, puppyish countenance he produced when Abigail wasn’t looking was, she conceded, rather endearing. 

 

***

 

It had been as clear to James as it had to Miranda that Abigail’s interest had been caught by the _Walrus_ ’s young quartermaster. He came into his cabin that night looking determined.

‘We should use this.’

‘No,’ Miranda replied.

‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Our life may depend on that girl’s good opinion of us.’

‘Maybe so, but she’s still a young woman and I won’t let you exploit her first experience of falling in love.’

James began to remonstrate with Miranda, but then broke off. ‘ _You_ won’t let me exploit her? Since when have you let an opportunity to improve our chances of success pass you by, Miranda?’

‘It’s not really so surprising, is it James?’ she asked. ‘Have I not always let Nature take its course when it comes to love?’ She smiled at his bemused expression. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I don’t think she – or he, for that matter – needs any help from us.’

 

***

 

The weather the following day was overcast and Miranda and Abigail had taken their usual activity inside. They were quietly engaged in reading and writing in James’ cabin when they were startled by Billy’s sudden entrance.

‘Captain!’

Billy’s voice was raised and brusque: he’d clearly expected Flint to be there. When he saw that the women were alone he immediately apologised and turned to leave. His retreat, however, was halted by a sudden, fortuitous swell. The ship pitched to the right and everything not nailed down began to slide, including most of the sundry items on the writing table.

Abigail shrieked and clutched reflexively for the inkwell though it was, in fact, fixed to the table top. The quills and the sharpening pen, along with Abigail’s journal, on the other hand, all scattered onto the floor. Abigail evidently thought they were headed into a storm and she gripped the table edge to brace herself against more turbulence. Seeing her anxiety, Billy assured her that the swell had likely been nothing more than a pod of whales surfacing nearby and indeed, just as he’d predicted, the seas remained calm. Miranda smiled to herself: even Providence, it seemed, conspired to push the two together.

Abigail rose from the table to gather her things, but Billy was too quick. He stooped and picked up Abigail’s journal. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘Your book.’

She started to thank him, but curiosity – or perhaps the desire to talk to her more – made him speak over her words and he asked her what is was that she was writing every day. His question made Abigail’s cheeks colour with a youthful prettiness that Miranda envied and Billy interpreted as an indication that he’d been too forward. ‘Forget I asked,’ he said quickly, 'I didn’t mean to pry.’

He turned to go, but Abigail reached out a hand to stop him. From where she was Miranda couldn’t see whether Abigail’s fingertips had made contact with Billy’s arm, but judging from the young quartermaster’s suddenly tense posture, she rather thought they had. ‘I don’t mind you asking,’ Abigail told him in a low voice.

Yet, despite having said she wasn’t displeased he’d asked, Abigail still didn’t immediately answer Billy’s question. Instead, she turned the journal over in her hands a couple of times, staring down at its cover and tracing the pattern in its leather with her fingers. Miranda found this curious: it was as though Abigail was averse to describing what she had written. A frown flitted over Billy’s face that suggested he’d also noticed Abigail’s reluctance. In order to hide his confusion he began to gather up the quills and other writing implements that were still on the floor.

‘I am simply,’ Abigail finally said, ‘keeping a journal of my time, and what happens, here on the _Walrus_.’

Billy looked up from where he’d crouched to retrieve the last quill. ‘You mean like a log book? You’re providing an account of the ship’s events?’

Abigail considered this. ‘Not quite like a log book account, no. More like a record of my reflections on the…’ There was the minutest of pauses as she decided to replace the word she’d intended with the one he’d used. ‘…events.’

But Billy had caught her tiny hesitation. What is more, he’d recognised what it connoted. He straightened slowly. ‘Your reflections, you mean, on _us_.’

The final word had a bitter emphasis and for a split second Billy’s eyes blazed with emotions Miranda had all too often recognised in James: anger, self-doubt, fear, guilt, self-loathing. It was a misunderstanding entirely of his own manufacturing, but Billy had cut himself to the quick with the presumption that Abigail’s observations on him would be severe. Miranda straightened in her seat. Under the circumstances, the two young people had been getting along very well but the rapport they had so recently launched was now in danger of capsizing. If it did, Miranda was going to be ready to haul them from the water.

Consternation at having upset Billy was written all over Abigail’s transparent face. ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed. ‘You mustn’t think— you mustn’t mis—’ Her thoughts threatened to burst out of her wildly but Abigail’s upbringing prevailed. ‘I mean to say,’ she continued with a visible effort to speak calmly, ‘Please don’t misunderstand. There is nothing that I have written on those pages that would cast any doubt on my own character, nor have I put down on paper any observations on this ship and this crew that I wouldn’t wish for anyone read or know.’ She sent him an anxious glance. ‘There’s nothing in there I wouldn’t wish for _you_ to know.’

‘I see,’ he said. But resentment still reverberated through his voice and Miranda wondered just how clearly Billy could hear what Abigail was saying. As if to confirm her fears, with a cool look he added, ‘And I’m sure I’d benefit from any correction your _reflections_ offered.’

At that, Miranda did half-rise from her chair. She’d had enough experience with the complexity of James’ emotions that, despite her insistence that they not meddle with Abigail and Billy, she feared this one was beyond the two young people to sort out. But Miranda had underestimated Abigail: the young woman had all the self-possession she needed to take care of this herself.

‘Correction!’ she repeated with a look of astonishment at Billy. ‘I said _nothing_ of correction. How could I, when I have been treated with nothing but courtesy and respect by everyone here?’ She touched the cover of the journal. ‘I have observed in here many times that the crew on this ship have all behaved in a most exemplary fashion not only towards me and Lady Hamilton, but also to each other. And in that assessment I count _you_ not least of all,’ she added with a gentle emphasis.

If the expression on his face was anything to go by, Billy had long forgotten his resentment but Abigail wasn’t yet finished. She drew her small frame up, tilted her head back and looked him directly in the eye.

‘Whatever you may think of me, I am not so blind or biased as to trust hearsay and stories over what I have seen and experienced for myself. At home, the Crown holds to the distinction that our Royal Navy’s force is one of good and that pirates are evil. But I am neither so young nor so untutored that I do not comprehend that the good intentions of England’s institutions do not guarantee those of her agents. I know – how ever not so well as you – that right beside the Navy’s best and bravest, are men who are cowardly and capable of inflicting evil on the unsuspecting and the undeserving. And though I also experienced similar cowardice and evil from men who were pirates, here, on _this_ ship, amongst _this_ crew, I’ve seen such evidence of capability, loyalty and humanity that I cannot help but think that these _pirates_ would do great credit to England if her monarchy and government would but recognise in them not monsters, but _men_.’

Abigail bit her lip and fell silent. Her cheeks were a deep crimson and she was breathing quickly from the conviction of her emotions and length of her speech. Seeming a little embarrassed by her utterance, she turned her eyes to the ground. For her own part, Miranda wanted to applaud. It was a pity, she reflected, that Peter Ashe would be unlikely to listen to his daughter’s views on politics. James and she could no doubt use Abigail pleading their case. She glanced at Billy, who looked as though he’d been rocked to his very core. Few young men wouldn’t thrill at being told how great and good they were in such spirited fashion by those they adored, but Miranda was certain that what Abigail had said had far greater import for Billy than simple adulation. She suspected that for Billy this was the understanding, the acceptance and the forgiveness which, if he were anything like James, he desperately needed to be given from time to time.

Abigail finally recovered herself enough to look up at Billy, where she saw instantly from his expression that all was once more well. Happiness bloomed on her face. Billy leaned forward. His right arm stirred as though he wanted to reach for her. Abigail seemed to catch something more in the depth of his eyes, for she turned her own downward again, confused and a little shy.

‘I mustn’t detain you any longer Mr…’ Abigail hesitated, unsure what to call him now.

‘Manderly,’ he told her softly, ‘My name is William Manderly.’

Miranda barely dared to draw a breath or do anything that would attract attention to her presence in the room. She closed her eyes. Whatever it was that was taking place between the two young people, she felt she had no right to see it. After no more than a rapid heart’s beat later, however, she heard Billy’s footsteps followed by the opening and closing of the cabin door. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone and Abigail was once more seated at the writing table, motionless and lost in thought.

Miranda had been perfectly aware that for Abigail what had started as an interest in Billy had quickly developed into a strong attraction to him. And though Miranda had been surprised by the extent and intelligence of Abigail’s compassion and comprehension, she’d known that the young woman had been sympathetic to him from the start. On the other hand, while Billy had certainly been captivated by Abigail and had probably felt more than a little desire for her, Miranda doubted it had gone much beyond that prior to that afternoon. But what had just passed between them had clearly carried far more weight for him and Miranda knew that whatever emotions it had stirred in him would last much longer than a simple attraction to a lovely face and a pretty smile. Billy Bones, she thought, with a smile of her own, had come very far down the path towards loving Abigail Ashe.

 

***

 

It wasn’t late, but Abigail, who’d been alternating between flushed and pale all evening, had already gone to bed. Miranda sat in James’ cabin and continued to read her book.

James entered, came up behind Miranda and leaned on the back of her chair. He rested his chin on her shoulder. ‘Are you sure,’ he said quietly beside her ear, ‘about them not needing help? Because I’ve been watching Billy closely and he’s barely even given her a second glance.’

Miranda turned her head slightly to give him an arch look from the side of her eye. ‘You may be watching, James, but you don’t see.’ She smiled. ‘Trust me. He’ll travel to the ends of the earth for her.’

‘Oh?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ she said with certainty. ‘Abigail thinks Billy is intelligent, hard-working, loyal and courageous — not to mention _handsome_ —’ Miranda watched James’ eyes lose focus slightly and smiled to herself. ‘And he finds her interest and appreciation captivating. He also thinks, quite understandably, that she’s very lovely too.’

James gave an exasperated snort.

‘But that’s not all,’ Miranda continued. ‘She extends all these generous characteristics not only to him, but also to you and your entire crew as well…’ James looked askance but Miranda quelled him with a glance and finished, ‘…and for that, he admires and respects her.’

James started laughing. ‘Oh, hush,’ Miranda scolded. ‘She’s still young and, I’ll grant you, a little bit of a romantic besides being in love with your quartermaster, but for Heaven’s sake, James, she’s not really _wrong_ is she.’

He gave her an indulgent, amused look. ‘Being a bit of a romantic yourself, aren’t you, Miranda?’

Miranda ignored him and went on. ‘Abigail sees in Billy someone who both has suffered cruelly at the hands of the Royal Navy, and has been let down by our ‘civilized’ English society. She believes that his actions, however wrong, are not only understandable they are also forgivable … and for that he loves her.’

James regarded Miranda for a very long time. ‘I see,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, resting her hand on his, ‘I imagine you do.’

 

***

 

The jolly boat had already been lowered to the water before anyone had thought of the two women. James was too impatient to re-hoist the boat on the davies: Miranda and Abigail, he said, would simply have to get down the same way as everyone else – by means of the hull ladder.

Miranda had enough experience to be untroubled by the prospect of scrambling down the side of the big ship, but Abigail clearly had some misgivings. The older woman was about to offer to go first by way of demonstration when Billy stepped to Abigail’s side.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘I’ll go in front so that I’ll be just below you the entire way.’ He gave her a reassuring look. ‘You’ll be fine, I know you will, but if you lose your footing even just a little I’ll be there to steady you.

Abigail nodded and watched Billy swing easily over the side. Then, with no hesitation she followed him. Miranda threw James a knowing look but he responded only with a curt shrug. Miranda sighed: the moment for lightness and humour was long gone.

At the bottom of the hull ladder Billy set his left foot firmly on the last rung, swung the other into the jolly boat to hold it near and stable, and braced himself with his left hand on the rung at his head. Carefully avoiding Billy’s fingers, Abigail picked her way down the last few rungs but then hesitated, apparently unsure about how to get herself from the side of the hull into the boat. Without a second’s consideration Billy distributed his weight equally across the span between the boats, leaving it to the strength of his legs alone to keep control of his balance and the small boat. Then he settled his hands around Abigail’s waist and lifted her from the ladder and into the jolly boat with no more effort than one might need to pluck a flower from its stem. Yet even with that done, and Abigail settled properly on a thwart, Billy still didn’t move. Miranda saw Abigail speaking and Billy shake his head in response to some question she’d asked. Abigail’s head turned first in the direction of the shore and then back to Billy. 

‘What in earth is he doing?’ James muttered impatiently. ‘We need to get going.’ He took a deep breath to bellow down at Billy.

‘Wait.’ Miranda put a gentle restraining hand on James’ arm. ‘She’s just realised he’s not coming with us to Charles Town.’

Abigail’s face had paled and she wore an expression of such dismay that Miranda pitied Billy whole-heartedly. He remained immobile, one foot still inside the jolly boat, the other on the bottommost rung of the hull ladder, his left hand clasping a rung, his right limp at his side. Abigail’s posture drooped but only briefly: she squared her shoulders, raised a grateful smile and offered her right hand for Billy to shake.

Billy took Abigail’s small hand in his large one. For an instant Miranda wondered if he would kiss it, but of course he did nothing so gallant. Indeed, so little movement of any kind took place that it barely could even be described as a handshake. Instead, the two just seemed to hold on to each other for a long moment, their gazes locked. Miranda felt James turn to look away, but she remained intent on the scene below. She watched Abigail’s smile begin to falter. Billy’s hand remained wrapped around hers for a few seconds longer but finally they had to release one another. Abigail ducked her head in a kind of goodbye, evidently too shaken for more words. Billy turned from her quickly and climbed the hull ladder back to the deck.

He looked, Miranda thought, rather grim when he arrived and his voice, as he offered Miranda similar assistance down to the boat, sounded gruffer than usual. James told him briskly it wasn’t necessary, that he’d see Miranda down himself and he swung over the edge.

Miranda waited until James’ head had disappeared below deckline and then turned to Billy. ‘You’re a good man, with a good heart,’ she told him. ‘Don’t doubt that.’ His eyes flicked towards her gratefully but he merely wished her and James good luck. Miranda thanked him and said, with more confidence than she felt, that all would be well. Billy nodded. ‘I hope so,’ he said.

As the men rowed them towards the shore, Abigail affixed her eyes to the _Walrus_ and the one figure who towered above the ship's rapidly diminishing rails. Miranda recalled the way she herself had parted from her life in London, filled with grief for Thomas, wild with fury over Alfred’s treachery and consumed already by the desire for vengeance. By comparison, the young woman next to her possessed a far greater gentleness, a generosity of spirit, and a heart so capacious that she could experience evil, yet still find within it not only forgiveness, but love. Miranda looked at James. She wanted to say to him ‘this, this woman with her values and her capacity for understanding and compassion, are what we need to protect,’ but James was lost in his own thoughts and didn’t sense her need to communicate with him. Miranda did the only thing she thought was left to her: she said a silent, fervent prayer for their plans in Charles Town to go smoothly and for the outcome they all desired to be brought about.


End file.
